Okay. To begin at the beginning. We love making music. We love it for the fun of it, that feeling of making something, that glue it brings to itself and the people you make it with. We’ve been extremely lucky to also be asked to share this glue. Gigs and festivals, folk clubs and radio shows, lovely people opening a door to a place, where we can do what we do for fun amongst others. And this glue sticks. Things shared, memories made.
Over the last few months, this glue has certainly kept us together. As the New Year passed, we lost Beth’s mum to cancer. Typical Jude, with her superpower of stubbornness, walked through several months of harsh illness, her family and friends around her, doing what she did best until the end: being Jude. Her last night involved all her daughters sat with her, watching a favourite film, quoting line for line and singing along. And of course, the film was Robin Hood, Men in Tights.
Jude was always there at Kootch gigs. Known by many. An absolute one-off character. A song of expected and surprise, of reliable and paradox, of sharing and single-mindedness. Jude, you will be very missed.
During these months we played less, got about less. This was furthered by half of Kootch moving house twice due to various ingredients of chaos. But we still got together occasionally, remembered how to play the songs, got the glue back in place, and kept it going. Because.
We were fortunate to be asked to play Moira Folk Festival, which was much needed mojo.
We also got to play Derby Folk Festival, which was a real lift.
We got to play at the wonderful Raising The Rafters folk club in Wath Upon Dearne, in aid of the Kirkwood Hospice.
We now have (finally) a music room again. Beth has named it The Den. Time to sing the chaos a bugger off song and bathe in the glue of making...
Here’s to Dean getting too excited with a song, playing the cajon drum too fast, Ian pulling his ‘Hey, if I pick this banjo any quicker my nails will melt’ face, Beth deciding this song is a murder ballad involving a killer tree, and twenty-eight verses are needed to explain how the maiden’s body grows from the grave and becomes a tree herself, while Katy figures out a B minor suspended 4th on the fiddle then calls out a tea break, involving Tim-Tam biscuits and well-stewed Earl Grey… the ledge beyond the edge. Kootch: that’s us.
